


The Knack of Acting Normal

by KeriArentikai



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: But He Gets Better, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, post episode 6, slight angst, very vaguely canon universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22169623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeriArentikai/pseuds/KeriArentikai
Summary: It's been almost two years since the last time he's seen him.Jaskier looks the same to Geralt. Maybe a little older, he supposes. Happier, certainly, than when he turned away on the rocks.[Geralt is sad. Jaskier is sad. And then after a while they are both happy.]
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 30
Kudos: 1105





	The Knack of Acting Normal

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about the books or the games, but reallyyeahokay pointed out this insanely compelling ship that I TOTALLY MISSED when I watched the show and she and relenafanel egged me on until... this happened. (They are the best.)
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It's been almost two years since the last time he's seen him.

Jaskier looks the same to Geralt. Maybe a little older, he supposes. Happier, certainly, than when he turned away on the rocks, after Geralt had let all his problems and frustrations flow out of him at the nearest safe target.

If nothing else comes of it, at least he'll get to remember Jaskier like this from now on – engaging the crowd with his animated eyes, his voice ringing out through the room, his lyrics witty and risqué. He's singing a comedic song about getting caught in the bedroom of a nobleman's wife and having to climb out the window to escape. Geralt wonders if it's a real story. Probably it is.

He has no idea how Jaskier will react when he sees him. He's briefly tempted to run away, to not find out. But he didn't realize, before, how much Jaskier used to make an effort to find him, to make sure their travels intersected sometimes. Geralt thought they ran into each other every few months for more than a decade purely by chance. He had been wrong, he realized after the first year without him. He can't risk waiting another two years to see him again.

He can't just... go up and talk to him. That feels impossible. What could he say? Geralt decides that he'll just sit here. Until Jaskier comes up to him, which of course he will once he notices he's here. Or until he comes up with a better plan.

_

Jaskier is good at moving on. He has lots of experience, after all. His entire life he'd been dramatically falling in and out of love, and – let's be honest – a lot of the time he had to fall out of love after he'd already been shown the door. But the one habit he just couldn't seem to move on from was how his eyes and attention were instinctively drawn to anyone with silver hair – his heart would half-jump before his mind would process that it wasn't Geralt and then, a second later, that he didn't care if it was Geralt, anyway. He'd spent sixteen years looking for him, no wonder he couldn't stop. 

This time it's actually him.

He'd spent the first six months imagining how he'd yell at Geralt the next time he saw him, and the next six imagining treating him with icy disdain, ignoring him to demonstrate that Jaskier needed Geralt as little as the other way around. But he'd stopped imagining the conversation they'd have. It didn't matter anymore. And now suddenly it does.

He sings and entertains until his performance is done. Geralt hasn't moved. He goes to the bar to get some ale. Geralt still doesn't move. He spends twenty minutes chatting with the bartender. Nothing. So he swipes a bottle of spirits from the bar in exchange for a promise of a personal serenade the next night, goes home to his rented room and gets roaringly drunk. He gets up to go back to the bar at least four times, but he restrains himself. This is for the best.

The next night, Geralt is there again. What the fuck. He doesn't want to deal with another hangover like this morning's – he's too old to recover the way he used to – so instead of repeating last night's strategy, he takes a deep breath after his performance (and maybe spends a little time looking in the mirror, adjusting his hair just so) and goes to sit at Geralt's table.

_  
“You liked my singing so much you had to come see me twice? I'm flattered.”

Geralt had been certain Jaskier hadn't seen him last night. He realizes now how absurd he must seem, and he can feel the very tips of his ears growing hot.

“Hmm,” he replies, in lieu of anything useful to say.

“What are you doing here?” Jaskier asks. 

“Ghoul outside Vaja.”

Jaskier looks at him silently. The moment drags on.

“I killed it,” Geralt adds.

“Great. I'll add a verse to my next song.” Jaskier didn't sing songs about Geralt anymore, not new ones anyway. He still wrote them, sometimes, but there never seemed to be the right occasion to play them.

“Hmm.”

“How are things with Yennefer?”

Yennefer. When she walked away, he'd thought he'd finally discovered his heart by the feeling of it breaking. He spent a while trying to find her, hired pretty women with long black hair to fuck, before coming to the conclusion that it had ended the only way it could have. She wanted a child of her own body more than anything else; he was sterile. She enjoyed playing; he hated games. A wish wasn't enough to build a life around.

It hadn't been the memory of Yennefer that tortured him this year. 'What happened' is easier to move past than 'what might have been'. He hadn't realized what it would feel like to have Jaskier actually absent from his life – it wasn't at all the same as not seeing him for a few weeks, or even a few months. This time, he had really been gone. He had turned his anger at the dragon, at Yennefer, at the world towards the one person he thought would stick with him through thick and thin, would forgive him no matter what he said. 

But then he forgot to ask for that forgiveness before Jaskier was gone.

Geralt shrugs. “Haven't seen her.”

_ 

“Well! It was nice catching up, I'm sure I'll see you–” Jaskier is cut off by a body falling heavily onto the table in front of him. Swords and daggers are being drawn everywhere, fists are flying and at least one of the people he had noticed at the table closest to the stage no longer looks like a person at all, but instead looks somehow both bestial and dead. He grabs his lute and ducks under the table as Geralt stands up, sighs heavily, and gets involved.

A few minutes later the fight is over, several members of his appreciative audience are dead and the bartender he had been sweet-talking over the past week is sitting behind the bar, sobbing into her bloody dress.

“What the fuck?” Jaskier turns towards Geralt, who has some gore on him but looks none the worse for wear otherwise. “My life has been almost entirely violence-free since I last saw you. Does death just follow you around?”

“Probably,” Geralt's voice is as low and rumbly as he remembered.

Jaskier just stares. He has been shocked out of his reserve. He's let himself forget how just being around Geralt makes him feel – amused and sad and _alive_. He has loved lots of people – loves lots of people – but none in quite the same way as Geralt. He'd learned to live with it, then he'd learned to live without it. He has no idea now what to do with the man standing here, waiting for him to talk, to make a joke, like he always did.

“Just like old times, I guess. You certainly know how to put on a show, but really it's much easier if you let me sing about your exploits instead of demonstrating them so... viscerally.” Jaskier smiles, grabs a bottle from the bar, and ushers Geralt out the door towards his boarding house. Geralt does some grunting but complies.

“I'm sorry,” Geralt grinds out as they walk down the alley.

Jaskier waves his hand. “Don't worry, I wasn't planning on staying here much longer, anyway.”

“I mean about... what I said. The last time.”

Jaskier keeps walking. He wanted this apology, obviously. For a while he had wanted it very much. But he knew he had taken Geralt's words as badly as he had because of his own feelings, not because of Geralt's actions. Hadn't Geralt told him time and again they were barely friends? Geralt was apologizing for his harsh words, but what Jaskier had actually been mad about was that Geralt never loved him back.

“Right, okay,” Jaskier manages. He feels incredibly tired all of a sudden. 

_

Geralt isn't sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't this indifferent, distracted response. He knows he isn't the wisest when it comes to friendships (relationships) but he knows this means that he needs to do more. He's willing to do whatever he needs to do.

“I'm planning on going down to the coast next. If you're leaving town, you can come with me.” He hadn't been planning on it. But he remembers that peaceful conversation they had before the dragon – before the fight with Yennefer – before The Fight. He's spent a lot of time remembering it over the last couple of years. Wondering what his life would have been like if he had agreed, if he had kept his mouth shut when he was overwhelmed by feelings he had no experience controlling, if he and Jaskier had left together and spent the time since then as companions.

He knows he wouldn't have appreciated it the way he would now. He's learned a lot about emotions since then. He's had a lot of time alone to think about it.

He knows now – he thinks he does, anyway – the difference between the sharp twisting in his chest that he thought was the only way to feel love and what love can actually be. Maybe. He wouldn't bet his life on it. But he feels the lessening of a slow, deep ache as he looks at Jaskier, the ache replaced by a small warmth. If nothing else, he wants that for a little while.

Jaskier hasn't replied but has frozen, eyes closed, in front of a door Geralt assumes is their destination.

“Let's talk about it tomorrow,” he finally says. “Up you go.”

Geralt follows Jaskier's instruction and heads up the staircase, through a neat living room (he tries to avoid dripping on the carpet) and into a small, messy chamber. Jaskier grabs some stacks of paper and some women's underthings that are lying around and shoves them into a drawer, which he slams closed.

“You can stay here tonight,” Jaskier tells him. “I'm sure no one out for revenge will come looking for you in this place.” 

“Hm. Thanks.”

He starts to take off his outer things and feels a twinge of dismay when Jaskier seems to be putting things on rather than taking them off – he puts on a cloak and a hat.

“You're leaving?” Geralt asks, hoping his voice doesn't betray any emotion. It doesn't.

“This room is too small for the both of us,” Jaskier says lightly. “I have somewhere else to stay. I'll be back in the morning and please feel free to avail yourself of the delightful and luxurious washing facilities on the premises!” He gestures at a wash basin half-full of cold water and then he's gone.

“Fuck.”

_

Jaskier really did want to move on from this town, even before Geralt arrived, and he missed Geralt. He told himself last night that he was going to refuse Geralt's offer but, being realistic, he knew he was going to go with him. By the time he wakes up next to Zofia in the late spring sunlight, he's accepted that he's falling back into old habits and will follow Geralt wherever he wants to go. He takes the time to appreciate the smell of her hair, the way it flows around her head as she sleeps. 

“Morning,” he says. “I'm going to leave town.”

Zofia sighs. “I knew this was too good to last. Who's going to be my wingman now? I've had more tumbles with lovely ladies in the last three months than probably the entire rest of my life.”

“You'll manage,” Jaskier promises, as he ties up his boots. “I put in a good word for you with the bartender.” He pauses. “You might want to wait until she's a little less traumatized, though.”

Zofia gets out of bed and hugs him tightly. 

“Come back and visit me. And you'd better tell me everything about that witcher of yours when you do.”

_

They pack up. Jaskier's heart doesn't seem to be in it, not the way Geralt remembered. It's been two years, he knows. Jaskier might have changed, matured. He hopes not. He liked the old Jaskier. But he's sure he'll like the new one as well.

He can smell a girl on him. God knows it's not the first time, but Geralt doesn't like it. He never realized quite how much he disliked it before now. Somehow it makes it worse that Jaskier could have stayed here with him, but went to her instead. Geralt had spent all night in a bed that smelled like Jaskier and he's a little off his game.

But Jaskier's not staying with her, he's coming with him. They have time. His heart lifts a little. Somehow, sometime Geralt will make Jaskier understand how much he actually regrets what happened. Jaskier was always good at understanding him.

_

It's almost like they fall seamlessly back into their old routine. Almost.

Oh, Jaskier still talks while Geralt mostly stays silent, still sings his works-in-progress until Geralt tells him to shut up so he can listen to the forest next to the road they're walking along. They stop for the night; Jaskier sets up a camp while Geralt does a little hunting for fresh meat.

But they're walking on eggshells. Geralt used to trust that he could be mean and dismissive towards Jaskier and he'd know that he didn't mean it – now whenever he says something even somewhat harsh (old habits, he has no idea how else they'd converse or how he'd keep them safe if he couldn't hear any threats coming) he cuts himself a little short at the end and his eyes dart over to Jaskier. Is he going to keep walking?

Jaskier is acting both more and less like himself and Geralt doesn't know how to interpret it. He projects his big personality and big voice for a while, then stops and doesn't speak again for an hour. Not even to ask how much further Geralt thinks they'll go for the day. 

By the third day, Geralt is hoping for a noonwraith.

It's awkward, and Geralt doesn't know how to fix it. They aren't too far from the next town, but it's cheaper to just camp here for the night and go into town to see if there are any monsters that need killing in the morning. Jaskier, who would usually push and cajole and wheedle for them to get to towns, nods when Geralt suggests waiting. There's a creek nearby, it's been a hot and dusty day. Jaskier leaves his pack and lute and goes to bathe first.

Geralt takes care of Roach, sets things up, starts to get antsy for his own turn at the creek. He pauses, and wonders why he's bothering to wait – it's a big creek, two men can fit in it at the same time. Jaskier's been more protective of his personal space than Geralt remembers him being, but surely this wouldn't cross any boundaries.

When he comes to the creek, it's clear that Jaskier has already cleaned up. They stopped early enough in the day that he could wash his clothes and leave them to dry in the afternoon sun, so he's sitting on a rock, clad only in his underthings. He's looking out at the forest and singing to himself.

Geralt realizes two things: first, this isn't a song he's heard before. He can't make out all the words, but it's got a wistful, aching quality that he's sure he would have remembered. He's sure the song is too personal to be performed in front of a crowd – but then, Jaskier isn't him, isn't afraid of having or showing emotions.

The second thing he realizes is that Jaskier is sexy. That _he_ finds Jaskier sexy. Not in an abstract, 'this is an attractive person' kind of way, and not even in a 'I have feelings for this person and I want to be physically close to them' kind of way. He stares at Jaskier's muscled back – much more defined than he remembers (had he ever paid attention to exactly what his back looked like?) - and how his wet hair clings to his neck and the way his legs fall open, and he wants to put his hands on Jaskier's waist, wants to put his hands _everywhere_ , wants to devour him.

Fuck.

He goes back to the camp and waits for Jaskier to return before taking his turn at the creek. He has a lot to think about. Alone. Where Jaskier can't hear him make any untoward noises.

_

“Alcohol,” Jaskier says as they sit down in the tavern. “Lots of it.”

Geralt “hmmm”s in agreement.

“I'll see if I can sing here tonight. I suppose if you sit here long enough, we'll find out if there are any monsters to hunt in the area. Maybe once you've had a few you'll tell me about one of the more dramatic hunts I missed so I can immortalize it in song.”

Geralt “hmmm”s to indicate that that doesn't seem likely.

Jaskier isn't sure what he expected of the trip, but it wasn't quite this. Geralt's been... weird. Jaskier had frankly assumed that Geralt hadn't noticed his absence much, but he's getting the impression that Geralt really wants to keep him around. He seems to be trying to be... nice? Well, no, not nice, exactly. But considerate. He's figured out how much impact words have, or can have, and he's pulling his verbal punches. Jaskier wants to tell him that it's not necessary, that he understands Geralt doesn't have a lot of range in how he deals with people, but he doesn't. It's too good, to feel like Geralt cares.

But after two years, he's lost the knack of acting normal around Geralt. He's sure Geralt has noticed and is just too committed to his 'trying to be nice' thing to comment. He's definitely staring at Jaskier a lot.

Some beer, some flirtation with likely ladies, some employment is just what they need.

He has a lot of the first, a bit of the second and a good pile of coin from the third by the end of the night. He hasn't noticed anyone approaching Geralt with work for him, so Jaskier doesn't bother to rush. After he's done playing, he sits at a table with two women who have been flirting with him through the evening. They're both widows, it turns out - Jaskier's favourite way to avoid conflict with fathers or husbands. He figures Geralt has already left. He always used to, when Jaskier played long into the night, to an inn or a hay bale in a barn, Jaskier wasn't sure. But he'd turn up again in the morning.

Jaskier looks over to their table and Geralt is still there. Still staring. His golden eyes shine in the dim light and he's beautiful.

_

Geralt feels a sense of relief when Jaskier says goodbye to the two women and comes back to sit across from him. Relief, because he had been jealous. Jealous! It's absurd. This whole situation is absurd. He's spent decades focused on his work, on making it from one day to the next, never thinking too much or having feelings, and now here he is, feeling like a teenage boy watching a girl get asked to the village fair by someone else.

He's usually extremely in tune with his body – it's necessary in his line of work – but he only notices how tense his jaw muscles are when he relaxes them to take a sip of his beer.

“You're up late,” Jaskier says. “Get any leads?”

“Overheard something about mysterious deaths a few villages away. Might be something.”

Jaskier cocks his head and looks at Geralt consideringly. “You look upset.”

Geralt is surprised. He's been told over the years that he's hard to read, that his face doesn't show what's in his head. Maybe it's just that no one had been looking hard enough.

“Life,” he replies, having no idea what to say.

“Oh? Some personal tragedy I missed since I last saw you? What's on your mind? Tell me, oh witcher!” He makes a flourish with his hands – he's had a lot to drink. “I promise I won't even include it in my new song.”

Geralt has been drinking pretty steadily too, so he says: “Nothing you don't know. Just the absence of someone important to me.”

Jaskier's face closes off, but right before it does, Geralt sees that twist of the mouth, that skeptical dip of the eyebrow that always appeared when Yennefer was around. He knows he has to be more clear. He's walked into every dangerous situation a person possibly could face, all without hesitation. Why did this scare him?

“I mean you. It's good to be with you again.”

Jaskier looks legitimately shocked and Geralt regrets that he's been so closed off, so dismissive over the years that Jaskier really doesn't know how much he cares. To be fair, Geralt himself didn't realize it for a long time. And didn't realize certain parts of it until yesterday. 

What Geralt realized throughout the sleepless night he spent near the creek, is that he hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about the future before now, not even in this last year, when he missed Jaskier fiercely. He had imagined a reunion, maybe even forgiveness one day. He hadn't thought about what he wanted to do with these emotions, what it meant for him to love Jaskier. 

He knows now. He wants to keep him forever. He wants to listen to him talk and sing, and he wants to fuck him, and he wants to settle down one day and grow old together in a little cottage. He's aware there are some logistical problems with that last bit – they age differently, and witchers don't retire – but he doesn't care. 

Knowing what he wants is a huge step, but taking that step has brought him to a huge chasm – how is he supposed to get what he wants?

Being brave, being honest, seems like a good start.

He's apparently rendered Jaskier speechless, for the first and probably the last time. He savours the moment. Eventually, Jaskier manages to recover a little.

“Geralt, are you going soft on me?”

“Maybe,” Geralt replies, and he smiles so Jaskier knows he means 'yes'.

_

Jaskier forgot a lot of things, but one thing he never forgot was how present Geralt is in his body. It's impossible not to notice – how deliberately he moves, how big he is, how he holds himself upright whenever possible.

How he looks half-naked.

They got back on the road and it wasn't so awkward anymore. They found the selkiemore and Geralt killed it, getting as covered in gore as he always did.

Jaskier looks away from Geralt heading towards the pond, getting ever closer to fully naked. No need to push his luck. 

Later, they sit by the fire, Jaskier strums his lute while Geralt tries to untangle his hair, freshly rinsed, before giving up.

“Let me try,” Jaskier says. He sits behind Geralt and chatters a little as he begins, but falls silent. He runs his fingers carefully through the silver hair, always softer than he expects, until it falls evenly down to his shoulders. He hums as he collects a bit of the hair from each temple and braids it at the back of his head, the style that Geralt prefers, as he says it keeps the hair out of his eyes when he's fighting. Jaskier remembers.

Jaskier sits for a few more seconds, his hand resting on Geralt's bare back. Geralt hasn't been speaking, but he can feel him breathing, maybe a little quicker than usual. Jaskier isn't sure why but the silence seems very loud. He takes his hand away and tries to think of something flippant to say to lighten the mood.

“Well! I–” 

His words are stopped in his throat – he wasn't sure what was going to come out anyway – when Geralt spins around, grabs his hand and says: “Wait.”

Jaskier waits.

The tension builds again as they stare into each other's eyes. Geralt looks like he wants to say something but doesn't. 

“I'm waiting.” Jaskier can't stop himself from saying it. He's spent so long wanting Geralt that it seems absolutely impossible that it would ever happen, not after all this time, but they're really straining the bounds of credulity on this interaction being platonic. Even he has to admit that. He wants to laugh it off, to say something dismissive, to relieve the tension. But he wants Geralt even more.

Geralt apparently gives up on words as not his style, and moves in – slowly enough that Jaskier could have backed off – to kiss him.

_

Yes. Oh, yes. Jaskier is kissing him back, mirroring the fierceness of his passion. They're tangled up now, a heap of limbs and bodies trying to get closer. He feels the adrenaline of fighting, but instead of pushing him, it's setting his entire body on fire. He can hear Jaskier panting, he feels his solid frame pressing against his own. This is what he wants. This is... so much of what he wants.

“Wait,” Geralt gasps, pulling back for a second, trying to get a handle on his thoughts.

“I thought we did that part already,” Jaskier replies, using his lips and tongue and teeth on Geralt's neck to good effect.

“I mean, we should... talk?” Geralt gets the sentence out, despite the distraction.

Jaskier pulls back and stares at him. “Oh shit, are you possessed or something? The kissing and now wanting to talk?”

“No, you idiot.” Geralt would feel bad about calling him an idiot, but it makes Jaskier relax. They're still touching, Jaskier's thigh draped over his own. “I just want to be clear. This isn't because we're bored or... friends.”

“No?” Jaskier asks, his eyes dancing in the firelight.

“It's because I want... I mean, what I'm trying to say is... I care. I lo...” Geralt's words grind to a halt.

“Shh,” Jaskier cuts him off with a kiss. “Me too. It'll be easier to say after I make you come.”

He's right.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter at @KeriUltrici


End file.
